A Mission Gone Wrong
by Xigbar-Organization 13
Summary: After giving his Superior a sarcastic answer to a question in the midst of a meeting, Xigbar is sent on a week-long mission to scout out a new world that the Second in Command, Saix, had recently learned the existence of. Being so used to recon missions, he thinks it'll be a piece of cake. However...once there, he finds that isn't the case. He arrived in the middle of a war.
1. A New Mission

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story. I just had fun writing it. **

**Rated T for now, likely to change in future chapters.**

**. . . .**

Xigbar sighed inwardly as he stared up at his leader, leaning heavily on his right armrest, chin in hand. A brief glance towards the rest of the other Organization members confirmed they were just as bored-if not more so, at listening to yet another repetitive speech. He swore he could remember each word as it was delivered, he'd heard it so many times now.

When he began recalling the previous day's meeting, he proved himself right, lip-syncing the previous speech with the current one. There was _one _difference, but it was pretty insignificant. Xemnas merely switched out Soras name, with his title; The Keyblade Wielder.

He again-out loud this time.

"Am I boring you, II?" The Silver haired man looked down at the one eyed gunman, seeing his posture, as well as the expression on that scarred face that _screamed_ boredom.

_"Yes." _His tone was so flat and emotionless, that it actually woke him up somewhat, golden eye widening ever so slightly when he realized the sarcastic answer he had been thinking had slipped out, instead of the Leader-placating 'No' he had planned to reply with.

_Shit._

"Is that so? Perhaps I can do something to alleviate said boredom. Saix? I'm sure you must have some mission or another, that requires a lot of time and effort. Perhaps that will give our dear Free-shooter something to do for a while. As for the rest of you-Dismissed."

He sat there, shocked at the turn events, before he groaned, and slid down in his seat, the rest of the Organization having disappeared in the swirl of black and purple Darkness, leaving just him and the Second In command-Saix, left in the Room Where Nothing Gathers.

"Since our Superior has spoken, I will be assigning you to a new world we have recently discovered, II, that needs to be explored. As per usual, you will go alone, and you will be there for a _week_, to learn what the world is like, what kind of Heartless it has, Weaponry, Magic, and the like. And upon your return, I want a full and _well written _report on my desk."

And with that, the Diviner departed as the rest had, an Orb of Darkness fading in his chair.

"I _hate_ this job."

-{-}-

_Reconnaissance__. _

He wouldn't deny that he was extremely good at it, but it didn't make him enjoy the job any more, especially knowing that he was going blind into unknown territory.

But they couldn't send any of the others either. They'd tried sending the Melodious Nocturne, but had quickly learned that the blond was a class-A slacker. He would make up excuses, feign sickness, lie about what he was doing-anything to get out of doing work.

Then there was Number V. Lexaeus.

His strength and wisdom in planning his missions made sure they were always completed properly, and within the time range given. However...not having him at the castle would result in more than one person being subjected to the Castle Scientist's demands for assistance, where the Silent Hero would aid him. Worse, their illusionist became more of a snotty brat without the earth-mover around, and would get into more arguments than normal.

For a time, their own Second in Command had taken on Recon missions, but this had a big downside- members of the organization would start slacking off more and more, resulting in less and less work getting done in his absence. Even the Superior had taken notice of this, mostly thanks to an incident where the Nocturne had tried smuggling a dolphin into the Castle.

As a result, Saix was promptly relieved of all Reconnaissance duties, and most of those missions from then on had fallen onto his shoulders, since, as Saix oh-so-nicely put it;

_"Number II is the man for the job. Reconnaissance missions require stealth, the ability to avoid detection, and to be able to gather information without getting captured. So logically, the one best suited for the job, is a liar, a sneak, and a thief. In short-Xigbar."_

He'd flipped the man off at that, and been reprimanded for showing disrespect to Saix.

However...He didn't really have the time to sit and think about that. Xigbar shook his head, let out a resigned sigh, then sat forward, letting himself disappear through a rift of space, with just one destination in mind- His bedroom. He needed to get ready to go.

-{-}-

Twenty minutes later, Xigbar gave his inventory a final look-over, to make sure he was well equipped for the week-long mission he would be on. He'd made sure to grab a good stock of Hi-Potions, and had even made the effort to pack a few Ethers, though he wasn't likely to use magic unless it was absolutely necessary, since his skills with it weren't that great.

For him, his abilities lay in _stealth_. Mid to long range Combat was where he could battle comfortably-it was when someone was so close they could touch him that he had trouble.

Being able to teleport around was only useful when you weren't being touched. He'd been in a tight spot before, when he'd tried to make a bid for escape, but at the moment of teleportation, fingers had grazed his arm, and he'd brought his assailant along.

_Thankfully, _he'd been able to dump them into the abyss beneath the castle.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, and then put up his hood. Whenever they went on recon missions, there was one solid rule-_Keep your hood up_. Why?

_It kept their individual identities safe. _

Because once, they had all been normal humans. Until _that _incident, anyways. Xigbar grimaced, and put the thought of Radiant Garden, and the loss of his heart from his mind.

It was time to go on his mission-not reflect on the past.

He spun on his heel, giving orders to a sniper to maintain their duties-disrupting the Keybladers progress on other worlds alongside the rest of the other nobodies, and then strode into the Dark Corridor which would take him to the new world.

. . . .


	2. The Shitty Shack

**. . . .**

Birds scattered as a pitch-black orb appeared in the trees, Xigbar stepping out of the Dark Corridor, and willing it to disappear behind him as he began to survey the area he'd arrived in.

His location appeared to be in a forest, and he was on a dirt path. It looked like it had been recently traveled upon, bearing several boot-marks. Carefully, he leaned down, placing his gloved fingers against the ground, so he could examine the shoe sizes with a critical eye. He counted seven different sets of prints.

The ground was still damp, so they couldn't have been by all that long ago. Silently, he let the fabric of space rip, stepping through a rift to stand on a tree branch high above his current position. Then, he began to travel, from tree to tree, teleporting so no one would see a strange, leather-cloaked individual jumping from one to the next, in the _opposite _direction that the marks headed in. Soon, a clearing, and he could see a series of brick landmarks. A small building. A shack, really.

It was surrounded by brick walls, and he could see an old broken down machine. If he was to take a guess, he'd say it was a tractor or something. Hard to tell, really, with the amount of rust it had on it from years of rain.

He also found about _five dead bodies _lying on the ground, with bullet wounds in them.

Closer inspection revealed that he was right about the dead-count, all wearing weird head-garments. He wondered briefly if it was a cultural or military thing, before he rooted through their pockets for information and on-site items.

He found some strange tin that said _Ration_ on it. And once opened, he _swore_ it smelled like a bull had eaten something dead and then shat it back out, into this little oxagon-shaped container. What kind of army would feed its soldiers something this _foul? _Not one _he'd_ ever want to serve-that much was for certain.

He came up with ammuntion, but it was for a gun he didn't have, which didn't help him. He also found some sort of communication device. Fiddling with the dials occassionally caught a snatch of talk, though the accent was so heavy, he couldn't make out a word of what was being said. Eventually, he realized the problem was the language.

Whatever those people were saying, he didn't know the language, so it was useless to listen to them, save for signs of distress or alarm. That, at least, could help.

He might know when to get the fuck _out _of there, anyways.

Another surprise while fiddling the dial was that he occassionally got some music out of it, and he actually recognized it. Listening longer informed him that it was some 'American band', by the name of -.

He'd never heard of it. But now, at least, he knew that there _was_ an english language on this planet, even if it wasn't present in the immediate area he was in.

-{-}-

Next, he climbed the stairs, to look from a higher vantage point. From there, he could see that that the Shitty-looking Shack seemed to be missing a roof, though for all he knew, it was designed to cover one room only, and not the other. He jumped over, landing on one of the support beams, before looking down. No signs of life-though he could hear rats or mice squeaking in the background somewhere.

Slowly, he dropped to the ground, and poked his head through the open doorway. Nothing. Just a bed and a fireplace. A quick check of the fireplace showed it held a lot of ash, so something had been burned there, though he didn't see any smoldering embers of wood, which means it had likely been something small and easily burnt. Then, he checked in the locker. Absolutely nothing.

So he dropped onto his stomach to check under the bed.

Aha. He grinned, and then stood, grabbing the edge of the bed, before he hauled it off to the side, revealing a trapdoor.

It proved heavy, however, and the Freeshooter grunted as he raised the door, leaning it carefully against the wall, before hopping in. Under the house, he saw nothing but rats and snakes. There was _just _enough room to crawl around, and there were only four exit points. One came out in grass, another behind some barrels, and one was blocked by a dead dude.

At least he knew what was in the barrel. The slick black substance that stained the edge of the lid said it was oil, and that meant the barrel was flammable.

So he found somewhere else to look.

Which brought him to a busted gate at the back of the clearing, behind the shack.

Closer inspection revealed that the hinges and lock had literally been broken. Whatever came through here, had used enough force to bash the gate open, leaving both sides half-attached, wide open to allow passage.

He could also see a deep mark, as if something had smushed down in front of the gate, and then rushed through. Tire marks.

...But what kind of vehicle only had _one_ tire?

Puzzled, he returned to the trees, and began to follow the tracks out of the area.

. . . .


	3. Peaceful Sleep

. . . .

It didn't take long before he came to a bridge.

It was boring. Plain and simple. But it was also _high as fuck._

Glancing down over the edge, he would hazard a guess that it was a long ways down. And when he jumped, and stood above the water, he gathered that thirty Lexaeus's, all standing on each others head, wouldn't be able to come _close _to the bottom of the bridge.

However, that really seemed to be all that was worth looking at-the height. There was nothing else remarkable, except for how deep and deadly the water in the river was.

But halfway across the bridge, he had to pause, then lean down. There were...scorch marks.

The wood was singed in places, as if specific points had been targeted by something very, very hot. But it hadn't burned completely. His guess was electricity.

_Something went down on this bridge...but what?_

He didn't know the answer to that question, so he shook his head, stood, and kept going.

Or rather-he was _going to._

But in the distance, he heard a strange...thrumming. He'd have to compare it to a hummingbirds wings, only _this_ sound was _much _louder than the wings of any bird he'd ever heard, and he ducked into the cover of the trees.

Strange, flying machines were heading this way, and he watched with baited breath as they passed overhead. He could count five of them.

And they were all carrying an even bigger machine, that looked like some sort of death-bringing vehicle, suspended between them. And then came two other flying machines, which distinctively reminded him of the paper planes he and Demyx threw at each other sometimes, trying to create one that _looked _cool, and still made it across the room.

They moved pretty quickly, despite the giant load between them, and he cautiously stepped out as they continued on, disappearing over the rocky walls he saw in the distance. And as he watched, his binoculars out and scoping in that direction. He didn't see anything.

But now he had an idea.

Follow the flying things, and scout out anything he comes across in the meantime.

-{-}-

Unfortunately, it was only a few minutes travel before his senses picked up on something very, _very_ wrong.

The helicopters were moving much slower now, and he could see a man up there. He was holding a strange device, and it was aimed-

_Shit._

He was in the crossfire, and it was aimed somewhere he didn't know about. He jumped into warp speed, aiming to get to the _other _side of the flying objects, and as fast as possible.

No sooner had he done that, then he heard a loud, ear-ringing explosion, eye wide as he stared back at a gigantic pillar of flame, that billowed like a mushroom.

It was almost as if Axel and Xaldin had gotten together to create some flame art. The smoke blacked out the sky, and ash was raining down on the land. It hurt to even look at the disaster before him, the raging flame billowing again, and again, trees bending and swaying as wind, pushed with the same force of the explosion, forced them to move.

Not ten seconds ago, he'd been standing close enough that he could have been caught in that explosion. At best, he would have only been hit by the aftermath-the wind. Still. Best case scenario in _that _situation was that he was launched off his feet and knocked unconcious, possibly suffering minor-to manageable wounds.

Worse case? Painful and most certain death, in either outcome.

And with that horrible thought in mind, he was at a loss for words.

_What kind of world was it, that they possessed a device that could destroy so much land, and in only one second, and left the aftermath of a burning flame that didnt subside for days?_

Suddenly, the world he was in seemed so much more frightening and strange.

During the time it took for his ears to stop ringing, and for him to be able to hear normally again, the strange flying things had moved off again. He needed to follow them.

But for some reason...he felt sick.

Maybe it was the wind. It smelt _toxic._

It made him ill enough that he had to stop teleporting, and spent about an hour throwing up, and shivering on the riverbank.

After that, he blacked out.

-{-}-

He woke up three times over the course of the next three days.

The first day, he felt as if he was dying. Potions didn't help, because he couldn't keep them down long enough for them to kick into effect. Cure magic was out, because his head hurt too much, and he couldn't summon the energy needed to save his life-which he needed to do.

On the second day, he had all but given up. He'd woken with a horrible fever, the headache was still going strong, and his stomach felt horribly empty. He didn't have the strength needed to crawl over to the river for water. There was only one small mercy that day.

He didn't have anything in his stomach to throw up, and so he didn't end up doing that. Instead, he just quietly lay there, overheating and shivering alternatively, before he finally succumbed to exhaustion, which, for all he knew, could be the final time he slept.

-{-}-

When his eye opened once again, he felt like the world had been dropped on his head, brain pounding, and throat dry as hell. He crawled to the river side, and despite the color of it, he cupped it in shaking hands, drinking thirstly from it.

It soothed his stomach, at least. Looking around, he saw the mushroom-shaped fire cloud had disappeared. The sky was now more of a normal color again, and it was much easier to breathe and think. He pulled off one glove, damp with both water and sweat, then raised a shaky hand to his brow. His temperature didn't seem quite as bad as the day before.

He sighed with relief, before he uncapped a potion, and brought it to his lips. Thirty minutes passed after he drank it, and he thanked Kingdom Hearts that it had stayed down. He could feel his sore insides healing, his esophagus having been burned repeatedly by vomit.

Slowly, he sat up, looking around at the place he'd stumbled to and passed out . Strangely, he could see blood, dried on the roots of a tree. He could even see an indent in the mud where someone had been laying, with a splintered stick with teeth imprints lying nearby.

The thought that he'd' been so close to someone sat ill with him.

But when he checked the density of the mud, he was relieved. It had been dry before he woke up, so whoever had been there had moved on while he was still passed out, or even before he was ever there.

Even more slowly than before, he manuevered himself so he was standing on his feet, wobbling slightly as blood rushed to his feet, little white dots appearing in his vision temporarily. But thankfully, they didn't stick around long.

He winced with the first step, turning in a circle, and he froze, eye locked on a flash of off-white he'd seen next to a log. Slowly, as if in a dream, he wandered over to it.

. . . .

_It was a skeleton_.

Judging from the look and the position of the body, they hadn't fallen to their death. He crouched down, examining the clothing. A fallen pair of glasses lay on the ground a few inches from the corpse, half buried in the dirt. When he pulled them out, he discovered that the left lens seemed to be broken, fragmented pieces of glass barely clinging to the frame.

_Were they...shot?_

He now looked over the actual figure. Judging from the shape and position of the bones, as well as the jaw...he'd have to guess that this person was once male. And with that thought in mind, the gunman deducted that the deceased was a man wearing a sweater, with shoulder guards and straps across his chest. Judging from the way the bones looked, they'd have to have been here for at _least _twenty-odd years, being as bare of flesh as they were.

He did a quick search, but found nothing to tell him who the man was. The only thing he did find, was a hole in the back of the skull, which showed how he died.

_"...Shot in the left eye."_

As he stared at the bones, and that hole-riddled skull, he raised a hand, briefly fingering his eyepatch, gaze still fixed on that empty left socket. Slowly, he lowered his hand again, as memories began to flow through his mind. He'd never forget how he lost his right eye.

He can _still _see it. The way the keyblade _flashed _in the sun. How that ball of darkness-_shooting_ towards him, had suddenly changed trajectory, _curving_ up towards his face.  
The sheer _agony_ he'd felt when it had connected, wounding him in _two_ places.

And then...

The **horror **he'd felt when he realized he couldn't see out of his right eye anymore.

_. . . ._

_"...Whoever you are...I hope you passed quickly."_

. . . .

He glanced up at the sky, and frowned when he realized how quickly dawn was sneaking up on him. By his count, it had taken at least one day to scout from the Shack to the bridge. Then, he'd spent three days being ill next to the riverside.

He couldn't get much scouting done with only one day left. It would be better to return early, and explain the circumstances that led to him aborting the mission so soon. He had been ill equipped, and ill prepared in general for it. Next time, however, he'd have an idea what to expect, and should be able to do a better job when he returned to do Recon.

For now-it was time to return to the Castle That Never Was.

He stepped forward, then paused. For a moment, he just stood there, staring straight ahead, thinking on something, before he turned again, and set to work.

Five minutes later, he was satisfied with what he'd done, and he created a Dark Corridor, and left the world, exhausted both physically and mentally by the stress of the mission.

As it closed, the darkness faded away, and the sun finally peeked over the cliff, the early rays of light illuminating the place where he had been sick. And before long, they had even reached that lonely, desolate log, tucked against the river side.

Xigbar had arranged that unknown skeleton so that they no longer looked as though they had died, sprawled out on the ground, with limbs lying awkwardly at either side. Instead, it looked as if they fell asleep with a pair of glasses resting on their chest, and never woke up.

The cliff wall above the deceased male now held words, carved into the wall with magic.

_Rest in Peace._

**. . . .**


End file.
